


wise men at their end know dark is right

by whiskey_ink



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempt at resurrecting Jaime's character arc, Canon Compliant, Depression, Even though I don't want it to make sense because it's just dumb, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It just happened, Jaime Lannister is Depressed, Makes 5x05 make a bit more sense?, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, i didn't plan on writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 02:09:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_ink/pseuds/whiskey_ink
Summary: To the South lay certain death. It waited for his sister, stalking the halls of the Red Keep in the robes of the Stranger. Soon, it would strike, and remove one half of the monstrous Lannister lion from the world.Perhaps it should take both.AKA- trying to logically explain how Jaime's character changed so much over the course of two episodes. Tries to make sense of canon- something I didn't really want to do- but I accidentally found a way to make Jaime relatable and I couldn't let it go.This fic relies heavily on my own experience of depression and self-destructive behaviour, so if that’s something that may trigger or otherwise harm you then please don’t read it.





	wise men at their end know dark is right

**Author's Note:**

> The one reason I can think of for Jaime acting the way he did towards the end of 5x04 and 5x05 is that he wasn’t himself. In my experience, depression can have that effect on a person- making them think and feel and do thinks they wouldn’t usually think and feel and do. This isn’t me trying to explain away canon- that dumpster fire was inexcusable. But late last night I had this thought of ‘oh shit, those are depression symptoms’ and this just had to be written.  
> This fic relies heavily on my own experience of depression and self-destructive behaviour, so if that’s something that may trigger or otherwise harm you then please don’t read it. Stay safe. 
> 
> Title from Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night, by Dylan Thomas

 Jaime Lannister was content.

It had been two weeks since the Battle of Winterfell, and the dead had been defeated. Every morning, he woke up beside the woman he loved, and every night, he fell asleep beside her. In between those things were laughter and kindness and fucking, and gods did all of those feel good.  

And yet, Jaime Lannister was afraid. For in that dark in-between, when Brienne slept and Winterfell lay eerily silent, he could not deny the truth.

This would not last.

Never, since he had joined the Kingsguard and begun retreating to that place deep inside himself to escape the horrors of the world, had he enjoyed such a long spell of peace.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the darkness that dogged his steps would descend on him again, whispering evils into the shadowy places of his mind.

_You are not a good man. You are one half of a twisted whole._

_She will hate you when she discovers what a monster you truly are._

_The world would be a better place if you were dead._

_Liar. Oathbreaker. Kingslayer. Sisterfucker. Sinner._

For a while, Brienne’s assurances of his honour and goodness were enough to keep the terrible thoughts at bay. With her help, he could fight the demons in his mind. But with time, her words began to lose their power, and he felt started to feel alone once again.

It was one goddamn battle after another, and he was running out of strength.

Jaime had not expected to survive the Long Night. He had planned on giving his life to protect Brienne, to finally die an honourable death and go peacefully to the grave, sword in hand, in the arms of the woman he loved. The fight would finally be over.

But in a cruel twist of fate, he had survived. Yes, he had found a reprieve in Brienne’s arms, a beautiful moment that made him feel young and strong at vital once again.

Until it ended.

Each night, the nagging voices grew a little louder, spoke a little longer after the dawn.

_Monster. Traitor. Hateful man. You’d be better off dead._

Brienne teased him for his lethargy in the mornings, and he smiled back, but inside, he ached. Sleep was hard to come by now, and he often passed a good portion of the night by the fire with a goblet of wine in hand.

He tried to fight, for himself, for Brienne. But waging war inside one’s mind is a tiresome thing, and felt his resolve waning little by little, day by day.

 _You are not a man whole,_ the voices echoed. _You are half of one whole- one hateful whole- and there will be no peace until you return._

Still, he beat the thoughts away. He would not return to Cersei. He might be fighting a losing battle here in Winterfell, but at least with Brienne at his side, he had something worth fighting for. Being with Cersei gave him permission to act upon those dark suggestions, and he flung himself into the role of a monster because it was easier to accept than to deny his true nature.

He spent more of his days walking the grounds, or sparring with Podrick, trying to distract himself from what was happening inside his head and to make his body feel as tired as his mind; as his soul. Perhaps then he would not wake in the early hours, heart pounding from another nightmare where he pushed boys from windows or murdered his kin.

He was returning from once such walk when he stumbled upon Brienne and Sansa talking in the courtyard. A raven had arrived bearing news of the war. The tidings it bore did not disturb him as much as the poison in Lady Sansa’s voice as she talked of Cersei’s doom.

Jaime’s knees almost buckled under the weight of disgust that threatened to overwhelm him.

_That is your sister- the most hated woman in Westeros. Vile and hateful. You are two halves of the same whole, Jaime. See how Sansa looks at you now? She knows this. Knows you are just a lion in sheep’s clothing. Knows it is a matter of time until you turn cloak and show your true colours. Only a matter of time before you hurt the people you love. It is who you are. It’s in your blood. Monster._

That night, he clung to Brienne like she was all that kept him from drowning. She held him like he was something precious, and he wished he could believe her. But he knew what Sansa believed, what everyone in this damn frozen castle knew. Sooner or later, she would find herself a victim of the Lion’s claws. It was his nature. It was Cersei’s nature.

Even if it was not at his own hand, her suffering could be caused by Cersei or Bronn or some random fucking northern bannerman seeking revenge.

He thought of his children, gentle Tommen and sweet Myrcella, dead because he was not strong enough to save them; was not brave enough to protect them from the meddling of their mother. Even cruel, twisted Joffrey, who might have found redemption if not for the power granted by that thrice-damned throne. 

_She is you, and you are her. Two halves of the same hateful whole._

He could not keep the tears from spilling down his face. Brienne looked at him with something that wasn’t quite pity. It was kinder than that. He supposed she thought it was Cersei’s imminent demise that was haunting him, not the fear of her own.

He was so, so tired of being afraid. Tired of hurting those he held dear. Tired of fighting this endless battle to be _good,_ to be _enough._ He knew that it was a battle that would only end with his death.

Once Brienne had fallen asleep, he carefully extricated himself from her embrace to sit by the fire once more. Widow’s Wail lay across his lap, a reminder of the cruelty he had brought into this world and failed to tame.

Joffrey. The worst of him and the worst of Cersei, all rolled into one hateful person. It wasn't the child's fault, really, for he was what their union represented. A vile abomination, something unnatural and cruel. He could see that now. He hated it, now.

Jaime let the tip of the sword press against his abdomen. It would be so, so easy to let it cleave his skin and put an end to his suffering, to the end of his worse-than-worthless life. The world would be a better place without him.

Brienne murmured in her sleep, and Jaime almost dropped the sword in horror.

No. No, he could not end his life here and now, leaving a corpse behind to be found come morning. Brienne would never forgive herself. She would forever wonder if she could have done something to save him, always think that she had done something wrong or not done enough to save him.

And yes, he admitted to himself, he was afraid. As a warrior, he had always done his utmost to avoid death, even as he prepared for somebody to cleave his head from his shoulders.

There was a difference between walking into a losing battle than taking one’s own life. They required resolve of different kinds. When walking onto the battlefield, he had always been prepared to give up his life _for_ something, _for_ someone. To slip a knife between his own ribs would be nought but an act of cowardice, and yet, he was too afraid to even do that.

Did that make him brave, or craven? 

Jaime placed the sword on the floor and turned to watch Brienne as she slept, unaware of what plagued her lover.

He could wake her, he supposed, and beg her to tell him he was a good man. Kiss her neck so that she made the noise he loved so much, that would give him the strength to fight for one more night.

But he was _tired._

He could wake Brienne, and she would do everything in her power to save him. But Jaime did not want to be saved.

To the South lay certain death. It waited for his sister, stalking the halls of the Red Keep in the robes of the Stranger. Soon, it would strike, and remove one half of the monstrous Lannister lion from the world.

There was no honour in ending one’s own life. But perhaps some could be found in returning to one’s family, offering forgiveness where it hadn’t been earned, and providing comfort and companionship in somebody’s final moments.

To go to King’s Landing would be reckless and stupid and equal parts cowardly and brave. It would free Brienne of his tainted love and she would never need to know how close he had come to ending his life whilst she slumbered mere feet away.

He could stand beside Cersei and they could await judgement together. He would bring her comfort, whilst perhaps borrowing some of the steely resolve she had always carried in her heart.

And when the axe fell, the two halves of the hateful whole would be defeated, together. They would leave this world as they had entered it, and once more, peace could be restored to the Seven Kingdoms.

_You will never be a man of honour._

A good knight should be willing to give their life to make the world a better place. That, at least, he could do.

Jaime reached for his sword.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. So. Now that's out of my system I can go back to pretending like 5x05 never happened. Happy days.


End file.
